


(un)happy birthday.

by ffomixam



Series: tumblr requests. [38]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Birthday Cake, Birthday Fluff, Birthday Party, Let It Be/Get Back Sessions, M/M, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 05:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19266724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffomixam/pseuds/ffomixam
Summary: "Would you be willing to write a non-smut fic where its Paul's birthday but they're so caught up filming Let It Be that they forget and it sours his day until John suddenly remembers and decides to throw something together real quick? Much thanks ^_^"





	(un)happy birthday.

1969,

Paul showed up early at Abbey Road Studios the morning of the eighteenth of June. Ha hadn’t needed too but he had woken up in such a great mood early that morning and just couldn’t keep it to himself so he had left the house well before anyone else had even woken up.  It made him hope Linda hadn’t planned anything special because, well, he wouldn’t be there to experience it.

He got up the clean stone stairs leading to the entrance of the studio, full of anticipation. It wasn’t an especially exciting age he was turning. Twenty-seven. Hopefully just another of many years left for him. It made him wonder with excitement what he would be ten years from now. In twenty years. In fifty years! Imagine that! Him at seventy-seven. The thought made him all giddy and anxious at the same time.

He rushed to the studio itself and, unsurprisingly, he was the first to arrive of The Beatles. The cameramen and the miscellaneous crew was already there setting things up while looking at him with stunned faces or raised brow. While, yes, Paul showing up early wasn’t uncommon. It was to this degree. He was, in fact, very early.

He shrugged it off and continued his way to the front of the pianoforte where he placed his briefcase and jacket in a small bundle next to the small stool and sat down in front of the piano with a crack of his knuckles. Might as well warm up and look over some songs while he waited for the others.

Michael, the director of the film, came to his side and placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of him with a flow of well wishes and happy birthdays from him and the crew. It gave him a warm sense of wellbeing he knew to only be surpassed by that of his bandmates.

They hadn’t been getting along together well lately but Paul had hoped, and hoped and hoped, so intensely that it could be pushed aside for this one day. That for this day they could have a calm and easy time making music. Hanging out and hopefully, for once, eat dinner together like they used to before all this animosity came over them like a vengeful tsunami.

Paul played music for about an hour or so before the rest shoved up one after another. Only Ringo really said anything to him, much to his dismay. Only a ‘mornin’, and nothing else. He hadn’t recalled doing anything recently to piss off the other two but there must have been some reason for their avoidance. Maybe they were all much too into their work mindset already that they didn’t think of anything else but getting down to it. So that’s what they did when the hours rolled by. Singing and playing. Occasionally looking over lyrics and notes. The usual.

Paul felt his mood gradually dampen at the lack of… anything from the other men. Had they forgotten? Could they forget? They had known each other for over a decade so surely this wasn’t a date easily forgotten? He was getting right bloody sour and was quickly packing his things to go back home to his wife and kids who he knew for sure wouldn’t have forgotten like some people.

Turning towards the door; he saw that the room was already empty of any other Beatle. Which made him pause; he hadn’t noticed any of them leave. Last he had noticed (which was something that he found, in a way, peculiar now that he was giving it some thought) was that John had been whispering to the other two in hushed voices. Paul had wondered about that but had been far too depressed about the lack of any birthday greetings or attention to put any deep thoughts to it. Until now. What had that been about? Hopefully nothing too serious. Paul just couldn’t handle any more band related drama today.

He slowly made his way out of the studio and as he was nearing the front door was stopped by a heavily breathing John who suddenly appeared out of a corner down the long hallway. He wasn’t wearing the (his wife’s) coat that he had been wearing that morning and now was showing off his skinny arms in a tight-fitting t-shirt as he stood with his hands on his knees, trying to get his breath back.

“John… We were taught in school not to run indoors, y’know,” Paul joked, despite the mood he was in. He couldn’t help himself, really. John waved a hand at him as he finally straightened himself out.

“When did I ever do what the teachers told me to?”

He said with a snicker and Paul, again despite himself, joined in on it. Well, no matter how much he wanted to be mad and hold a grudge about what had happened (or not have) today; he also had found it hard to be mad at John for too long.

John’s slender, calloused hand came to rest on Paul’s bicep and started slightly tugging at it as he started to go in the direction from where he had emerged from not too long again. “Come along now, Paulie,” he said with a slight grin as he dragged the younger man along with him.

Paul questioned him as to where they were going but to no avail. John had apparently decided to stay mum the entire way to… wherever he was bringing him. It was all very… strange for Paul who much rather just wanted to go home after the rather exhausting and… lacking day he had had. John stopped in front of the door Paul knew to be belonging to the small kitchen and breakroom of the studio and looked to his old friend with a raised brow. Why had he led him there?

It was quickly found out once John slammed open the door (the force was pretty unnecessary, Paul thought) to a sudden influx of yelling ‘happy birthday” with small bundles of shredded paper thrown at him. It took a second or two before it really registered with Paul what was going on. He looked around the room to find a small, probably quickly done, birthday party done in his honour. Ringo and George stood behind the wide table with bags of white shredded paper (homemade confetti, apparently) and a small store bought cake that looked to be from the small grocery down the road.

He looked at the duo in gaping shock before turning to John. John, who seemed uncharacteristically nervous, glanced from Paul to the cake and back again. When their eyes connected; he smiled nervously to Paul as he awaited some kind of reaction.

Paul laughed. Laughed in relief. Laughed at the rather ridiculous sight the trio made. John smiling awkwardly by the door while Ringo and George held clear bags of shredded paper that was still flowing around the room due to the draft the open door and window made. It had gotten in their long brown hair for which they seemed oblivious.

“So you did forget!”

He managed to get out in the midst of his laughter and John started stammering in response. Most likely thinking of some kind of denial or excuse but it was clearly all very obvious to Paul what had happened in the proceedings of this impromptu birthday party. He dragged John into a hug, something he soon after realised hadn’t happened in… years, with a fluttering of thanks to both him and the confetti wielding duo.

And as he pulled back from the hug; both John and his own cheeks slightly pink, he admitted that whatever this was… it was much better than whatever they could have done if they had remembered his birthday in advance. That this small impromptu intimate affair was much closer to what he would have wanted from the three of them.

So, they celebrated in the small cramp room. Eating the strawberry cake, which wasn’t all that good but Paul didn’t mind, while throwing clumps of confetti at each other occasionally. Soon, Ringo and George each had to leave, leaving John and Paul alone. Sadly, a rare occasion these last few weeks. There were always people from various jobs and duties. Or Yoko, who seemed to be an eternal shadow to John’s figure. Paul didn’t exactly mind that. She was nice enough, but there were times where she needn’t be in the studio (admittedly that was most times) but she was.

“Again… thank you,” Paul said to John who sat across from him, scraping off the last few pieces of frosting off his plate as they sat talking. He shrugged with a shake of his head and licked his fork clean.

“It’s the least we could do for being such gits and forgetting your birthday, yea?” he glanced to the still open door. “In all the years we’ve known each other… you’ve never forgotten mine,” he muttered and looked back at Paul, looking distraught. Paul sighed, “it’s alright. We’ve been all very… stressed, y’know. Backed up with work and the like.”

John shook his head again and got up to collect their plates; putting them in the sink while saying in the midst of the porcelain clanking; “don’t excuse our actions.”

Paul said no more, knowing it to be a losing battle and satisfied himself in the feeling of content the small gathering had brought. It had been so long (too long) since the four of them last had been in a room alone with no fighting or threats of leaving the band.

So he got up; feeling a content sense of calm he had not expected to end the day with just a little earlier said day. He turned around to face the sink and almost bumped into John, whom had not heard near him at all. They followed each other out the room in serene silence but Paul was stopped by John before they reached the corner where they had almost crashed into each other earlier that day. Paul looked at him, feeling confused at the sudden interruption.

If his silent question was answered or not remained to be seen as John whispered a last ‘happy birthday’ before placing a chaste, bearded, kiss to his own soft lips. Paul knew not how to react and when he finally snapped out of his bewildered haze, John had disappeared out of sight. He heard a door slam but didn’t yet move out of his laconic state of being as he silently felt his lips with the tips of his fingers; trying to discern if that had really happened.

He blinked before lightly shaking his head, trying to snap himself out of it. Had John really kissed him? He took one step. Two steps down the hall before stopping again to, yet again, feel his lips that still tingled from the soft touch and rough tickles John’s lips and beard had left. It was certainly a birthday that both ended and started in a way he hadn’t expected.

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday, you old fuck


End file.
